Page 63 of The Killer Cupcake (Poison Cherry #3)

THE MOUSE TRAP

Their uneasy alliance balanced on a knife's edge. Tommy needed Matteo's inside knowledge to erode Ricci’s control over Brooklyn's docks. Matteo needed Mangano’s muscle to protect Debbie while she remained in Brooklyn until he could move them to Vegas. Something in his father’s eyes alarmed him.

He felt the need to be extra careful. Two traitors meeting in shadows, their families none the wiser.

The rusted door groaned. Tommy entered from the darkness, his crocodile smile gleaming. "Ricci. Was starting to think you'd developed common sense and run."

They'd barely exchanged coded pleasantries when the lights died.

In the sudden void, Tommy's Sicilian curse was cut short by the wet crunch of aluminum meeting bone.

Matteo's gun cleared leather just as something solid and fast cracked against his temple.

The last thing he registered before the blackness swallowed him was the rhythm - three sets of work boots moving in practiced synchronization.

Carmelo removed his mask first. Slim took off his mask, and then Caesar. They stood over two unconscious men. “Caesar? You know what to do.”

“We will stash Magano until Matteo enlists in the army. Everyone will think he’s dead. Matteo will find the body as we agreed. No one will trace it to us.”

Carmelo looked over to Slim. “And?”

“I got it, Boss. I’ll keep Harlem out of it. Spread the word that Magano is in debt to the Irish. That they got him. Have the families looking in that direction.”

“It’s important, Slim. None of this can be traced to Henry Freeman or Harlem. You got it?” Carmelo asked.

“Got it.”

Carmelo pulled his mask back down. “Then it’s showtime.”

Consciousness returned in waves of pain. Matteo's vision swam, focusing slowly on Tommy Mangano's corpse. The golden boy lay twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling beneath a head so mashed in he couldn’t tell if it was really him—professional work— efficient, brutal.

Matteo's hands shook as he rushed outside and found a payphone, muscle memory dialing Caesar's number. "It's me. Red Hook warehouse. Come alone—no, bring Carmelo. And Slim. Something's happened."

He had no choice but to return to where he had left the dead man.

He couldn’t let anyone find him. Twenty minutes felt like twenty years.

When the door opened, Carmelo entered first, taking in the scene with those calculating eyes Matteo had grown to hate.

Slim secured the outsider while Caesar helped Matteo to his feet.

Every time Matteo tried to stand on his own, he felt wobbly from the blow to his head and had to sit.

"Tommy Mangano," Matteo said unnecessarily. "We were... discussing territory."

"Without family sanction." Carmelo's voice held no judgment, just fact. "Who else knows about these meetings?"

"No one. We kept it—" Matteo stopped. "Wait. We left Rao's together. Tommy's crew saw us. Fuck. Fuck. I’m fucked . They’ll pin it on me!”

Carmelo knelt beside the body, studying the wounds with clinical detachment. "Professional hit. Meant to send a message by letting you live.” He stood, fixing Matteo with that penetrating stare. "You understand what this looks like?"

"Like I killed a made man, again. A Mangano captain's son." The full weight crashed down on Matteo. "They'll want blood. The whole family will?—"

“Father will use this against us. He’ll use it, Matteo. And Debbie? He’ll come after her,” Carmelo warned.

Matteo's legs gave out. Caesar caught him, easing him onto a crate. “I’ll cut Pa’s throat myself before I let that happen. No one threatens Debbie, Junior, my baby?—”

"Unless..." Carmelo said.

"Unless what?" Desperation crept into Matteo's voice.

“Unless we cover this up. Get rid of the body. Pin it on Henry Freeman. Make it part of the war.”

“No! No more of that shit! Carmelo, the war has to stop. Too many people are dying. Debbie’s people are dying. You swore to me that you would force Pa and the families to barter a truce with Henry Freeman. Put an end to it.”

“How the fuck do I do that with a fresh body on my hands!” Carmelo shouted back. “You fucked this up. You did it! Always working behind the family’s back, now look! I won’t let Pa kill you or the Maganos!”

Slim and Caesar exchanged a look over Carmelo’s performance.

Matteo dropped his head in shame. “There has to be something else. Some way to fix this. Damn it. She’s pregnant. She’s all I got, and my kids. I got to protect them, Carmelo.”

Carmelo exhaled. He put his hands to his head and paced before the corpse. He froze. "There's a recruiter in Bay Ridge. Owes us favors. You could be in uniform within forty-eight hours. Basic training by week's end. The Army doesn't care about Mafia politics."

“Army? You fucking insane?” Matteo’s eyes stretched.

“If you are not a target, and out of the way, I can work things with Pa and the families,” Carmelo said.

“You want me to run? Abandon my family?" Matteo asked in disbelief.

"I want you to live." For a moment, something human flickered across Carmelo's face. "All of you. Two years and you’re back. Clean. I’ll take care of Debbie and the family.”

Matteo looked to Slim with pleading eyes. The one person he trusted completely. The older man's face was grave. "It's a good plan, kid. Maybe the only plan. Your brother's offering you a way out."

"This is convenient." Suspicion flared through Matteo’s panic. "Too convenient. Did you?—"

"Careful." Carmelo's voice turned lethal. "I'm trying to save your life. Question my methods later, when you're alive to do it. We are out of time.”

The warehouse fell silent except for the distant sound of ships in the harbor. Finally, Matteo nodded. "What about Debbie? The baby is coming, Junior?—"

“I said I'll protect them." Carmelo met his eyes. "I swear on our mother's grave. While you serve, they'll be untouchable. I'll force Father to the table, negotiate peace with Harlem. By the time you return, this war will be over."

"And if you're lying?" Matteo asked. “I give up my life and my kids, and you do nothing. I’ll fucking kill you.”

"Then I’m no worse off than you are now." Carmelo gestured to Tommy's cooling corpse. "Decide, brother. The Maganos won't wait for a compromise.”

Matteo buried his face in his hands. When he looked up, tears tracked through the blood on his face. "I need to see them. Explain..."

"You have until sunrise. Caesar will drive you. Slim, we need to stage this scene. Make it clean.” Carmelo said. "Matteo, you were never here. You spent the night at Debbie's. Anyone asks, you know nothing about Tommy Mangano's last movements."

"Carmelo..." Matteo's voice broke. "I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can leave them. Let’s think of something else.”

“There’s nothing else. Trust me. You know I know how hard it is to let go.”

Matteo studied Carmelo for a moment, feeling as if his brother was partly satisfied by his misery. But he pushed the thought from his mind when he saw Magano’s mutilated corpse. He had no choice.

"Nothing will happen." The promise fell between them like a blood oath. "Now go. You have goodbyes to make."

The motorcycle's growl faded into the predawn hush that covered the empty street.

Matteo killed the engine. He stared up at the darkened window where he knew Junior slept—his little soldier safe in his fortress, guarded by a mother who never left her post. Four hours until sunrise.

Not enough time. He needed weeks, months, a year to watch his new baby take first steps, to hear childish laughter fill these walls a little longer.

The house exhaled silence as he entered.

It was as heavy as his burden. He navigated the stairs by memory, fingertips brushing the banister like a blind man reading braille.

Inside the moonlit room he found Junior sprawled across his bed, one foot dangling over the edge.

His little soldier was always fighting sleep even in his dreams. Matteo's calloused hand enveloped the tiny foot, warm and perfect.

A contented snore answered in response. He tugged the blanket up, tucking in the edges like armor against the night.

"Hey." Debbie's voice rasped with sleep from the corner chair. She rubbed her eyes, the moonlight catching her lovely auburn hair and soft features "He waited for you again."

"I told you Debs?—"

"—to put him to bed." She shifted, the wicker creaking beneath her. "But he won't close his eyes until he smells your leather jacket, Matteo. You trained him. Don't change the rules now that business keeps you out late."

The lump in Matteo’s throat threatened to choke him.

He kept his face turned away, blinking hard until the burn behind his eyes subsided.

Debbie's grunt as she rose—that particular seven-months-pregnant sound—preceded the shuffle of her slippers across the floor.

Her arms encircled his waist from behind, her swollen belly pressed in against the small of his back.

"Mmm." Her sigh warmed his shoulder blade through the thin fabric. "You smell like outside."

He turned, gathering her into the shelter of his arms. Her face tilted up instinctively, lips parting before their mouths even met. She tasted of mint toothpaste and sleep, of home. "I love you so much," she murmured against his lips, the words vibrating through his chest.

"I saw Mama today." Her fingers rubbed over the buttons of his shirt. "Told her everything. She already knew—just waited for me to say it." A tremor ran through her. "I can't lose her, Matteo. I can't run to Vegas when?—"

"Shhh." He cradled her jaw, thumbs brushing the apples of her cheeks. "We're not going anywhere."

Her breath hitched. "Really?"

"Let's take Junior to our bed." He kissed her forehead, her nose brushing his chin. "Just for tonight. We'll figure out the rest tomorrow."

Junior barely stirred as Matteo lifted him, the boy's arms looping around his neck with the unconscious trust of a child who knew his father would never drop him.

Debbie's hand found his, their fingers interlacing as he guided her across the hall—her waddle more pronounced tonight, the weight of their daughter dragging at her steps.

Matteo performed the nightly ritual with extra care: peeling Debbie out of her housedress, coaxing her into the oversized nightgown she hated but needed, even donning the ridiculous striped pajama pants she'd bought him as a joke.

When they finally settled—Junior sprawled half across his chest despite being far too big for it, Debbie curled into his side with a contented sigh—Matteo closed his eyes and committed every sensation to memory: the rhythm of their breathing, the heat of their bodies, the way Junior's hair smelled faintly of peanut butter from his bedtime snack.

This, he thought as Debbie's fingers found his in the darkness. This right here is what the saints promised. And for these stolen hours, he let himself believe it might last.

Carmelo had called first thing in the morning.

He told Matteo he had a full day with his family instead.

But he’d have to do what they agreed tomorrow.

And Matteo seized on the opportunity. Staying in to play and nurture Junior.

Cooking and cleaning. Doing all of Debbie’s bidding.

Just being there as if it were the last day of his life.

And it felt as if it was. When José came home from work, he sat them both down and told them the half-truth.

He done something

Something he couldn’t undo.

He had to leave.

Join the army and go for two years.

There was no way to change any of it.

Debbie took it the worst. They had the worst fight he’d ever had with her.

She screamed at him. Ran from him. Reduced Junior to tears with her rage and hysteria.

It got so bad that José had to take Junior to Mama Stewart while Matteo did his best to calm her for the baby’s sake, if not for their own.

After her body was exhausted, she was inconsolable. All she did was cry. And eventually he cried with her. He’d not shed a tear since his mother died. And this felt just as painful. A death to their dreams and their plans. He knew they would not come back from this. He just knew it.

They spent the remaining hours holding each other, memorizing touches, storing up love for the separation ahead. When Caesar arrived at dawn the following day, Matteo kissed his family one last time.

"I love you," he whispered against Debbie's lips. "More than my life. Remember that."

"Matteo—please, please, I can’t do this without you."

But he was already walking away, because if he looked back, he'd never leave. Behind him, Junior's cries pierced the morning air. "Papa! Papa, come back!"

In the car, Matteo broke completely. Caesar drove in respectful silence, letting a good man grieve for the life he was about to lose. Somewhere in Brooklyn, Carmelo was orchestrating the cover-up that would sell this fiction.

By nightfall, Matteo Ricci would be another volunteer, eager to serve his country against the Communist threat. No one would question a young man's patriotic choice.

No one except the family he left behind.